POSTCARD FROM MARBELLA – A TALE OF TWO TAIL-ENDERS

Progress with Saving
Dave is currently about as productive as Ireland’s second innings at Lord’s –
more on that in a minute – which is why I’m blogging again.

My partner and I
were talking about names last night.

No particular
reason.

As many of you may
know we’re getting married in September. Some of you may even be coming to the
wedding. But children’s names, I can guarantee, will not be a subject for
conversation at the post-nuptial breakfast table.

In Poland they
have some very sensible laws and the naming of children is one of them. You
see, there are only certain names – those on a list, or register – that you are
legally permitted to inflict on your children.

‘It’s my name day! Get the vodka out!

Pity the same
doesn’t apply in Britain, or the UK or whatever it’s known by these days.

A typical
conversation at the Registry of Births, Deaths and Marriages may go thus:

‘First name of child?’

‘Err … Peeches.’

Registrar consults register.

‘Sorry, can’t have that.’

‘Oh. Well we thought … maybe Storm?’

Further consultation of register.

‘Nope. Sorry, can’t have that one either.’

‘Bugger.’

‘Certainty can’t have that one.’

‘Hmmm Well, we
thought, as a last resort … although we don’t really like the name …
Tiggy?’

‘Oh come on. For
goodness sake.’

‘Alice?’

‘Fine.’

The Polish have,
probably accidentally, devised a foolproof system whereby it is impossible to
give your child a name for which they will hate you forever.

And because they have
sensible names like Anna or Pawel or Eva this means the choice is fairly
limited. But then if you are christened Malgorzata (which roughly translates to Margaret in English) you can
choose to be known as Gosia, should you prefer.

And you know what’s even better about the Polish system?

Well, as we all know, the Poles love a party because parties involve huge quantities of vodka and sometimes also wine, beer and food. And so in addition to birthdays they have “name days”. Thus, everyone registered by the name of Carolina, for example, is honoured on a particular day of the year.

The Irish should definitely consider adopting this because they currently only have the one Name Day and a few more wouldn’t go amiss.

Anyway, talking of the Irish, what a kerfuffle at Lord’s.

Lord’s the home of … two tailenders?

I mean, what was that all about then?

For those of you who don’t know, last week Ireland played England in the
first full test match in their history and almost dumped the hungover ODI world
champions on their arses.

When I say nearly, that’s probably not quite true. However they did
manage to bowl a decent England side our for 85 (runs, if you haven’t a clue
what I’m talking about) on the first day and went on to establish a lead of one
122. On the third day they required 182 to pull off an incredible and
unpredicted victory but instead were dismissed for 38 in very short order.

To sum it up, it was the tale of two-tailenders.

A tailender, dear reader, is a batsman who goes in last. He is not
expected to trouble the opposition unduly and is sometimes unkindly referred to
as a rabbit. But if Nos 9 and 10 can be similarly described, then our No11 is termed
a ferret, because he goes in after rabbits.

And why is this person is the team at all, I hear you asking, Mr Woman? Because he is a bowler and his job is to inflict pain and humiliation on the batsman and not wield the willow to any great purpose.

One of the most famous tailenders was called Bob Willis and he once set
out to the wicket only to arrive at the crease to discover that he had
forgotten to bring his bat with him.

Bob Willis: his job was to break jaws and take wickets … not to carry bats

So, two tailenders. The first, named Jack Leach had only made 45 runs in
the entire season before being sent in as a “nightwatchman” to see out the
final over of the first day. He went on to score 92, a mere eight runs short of
having his name inscribed in perpetuity on the Lord’s Honours board.

The other, an Irish fellow by the name of Boyd Rankin didn’t fare quite so
well, but achieved his own place in Irish folklore through an anonymous
adaptation of The Wild Colonial Boy, which I will shortly share with you.

But before I do, I will tell you that I actually laughed out loud when I
read this and woke up in the middle of the night chuckling. It still puts a
smile on my face and those of you who know me also know that this is not an
easy thing to do.

Boyd Rankin: the Wild Tailender Boy

This is the first thing I actually wish I had written myself since I
read last Sunday’s Jeremy Clarkson column or anything by Hemingway.

Judge for yourself and then take a look at the original being performed by The Clancy Brothers & Tommy Makem.